"Cool," I said, impressed. "I should wear it all the time."
Ivy's expression went subtly guilty. "You could, but I got the last bottle, and I don't know if I could find it again."
I nodded. She meant it was more expensive than a gallon of water on the moon. "Thank you, Ivy," I said earnestly.
"You're welcome." Her smile was genuine. "Happy early solstice." Her attention went to the front of the church. "He's here."
The rumble of an idling car filtered in through my thin stained-glass window. I took a deep breath and glanced at my bedside clock. "Right on time." I turned to her, pleading with my eyes for her to get the door.
"Nope." She grinned to show an unconscious slip of teeth. "You get it."
She turned and left. I looked down at myself, thinking what I had on was grossly inappropriate, and now I had to answer the door in it. "Ivy…" I complained as I followed her out. She never slowed, holding her hand up in refusal as she walked into the kitchen.
"Fine," I muttered, boot heels clicking to the front of the church. I flicked on the lights in the sanctuary in passing, the high, dim glow doing little to brighten the gloom. It was after one in the morning, and the pixies were all safe and snug in my desk until about four, when they would wake up. There was no light in the foyer, and I wondered if we ought to do something about that as I pushed open one side of the heavy wooden door.
With the soft sound of shoes grinding on rock salt, Kisten shifted back.
"Hi, Rachel," he said, his eyes taking in my clothes. A faint stiffening of the skin about his eyes told me I had guessed correctly; I wasn't dressed for whatever he had planned. I wished I knew what he had on under the luscious gray wool coat he was wearing. It went all the way to his boot tops and looked classy. He had shaved, too—his usual day-old stubble gone—giving him a polished look I wasn't used to seeing on him.
"This isn't what I'm wearing," I said by way of greeting. "Come on in. I just need a minute to change."
"Sure." Past him at the curb was his black Corvette, the light snow melting as it hit. He edged in past me, and I pulled the door thumping shut behind him.
"Ivy's in the kitchen," I said, starting back to my room, his soft steps following right behind me. "She had a bad afternoon. She won't talk to me, but she might talk to you."
"She called me," he said, the careful cadence of his words telling me he knew about Piscary asserting his dominance over her. "You're going to put on different boots, right?"
I jerked to a stop at the door to my room. "What's wrong with my boots?" I said, thinking they were the only thing that I was going to keep on. Ah…the only thing from this outfit, not the only thing total.
He looked at them, his dyed-blond eyebrows high. "They're what, five inches?"
"Yeah."
"It's icy. You're going to slip and break your ass." His blue eyes widened. "I mean your rear end."
A smile crossed my face at the thought that he was trying to clean up his mouth for me. "They make me as tall as you, too," I said smugly.
"I noticed." He hesitated. With a little jiggle, he whisked past me and into my room.
"Hey!" I protested as he went right to my closet. "Get out of my room!"
Ignoring me, he pushed all the way to the back where I put everything I didn't like. "I saw something here the other day," he said, making a small exclamation as he leaned to tug at something. "Here," he said, holding out a pair of drab black boots. "Start with these."
"Those?" I complained as he set them aside and stuck his arms back into my closet. "There's no heel to those at all. And they're four years old and out of style. And what were you doing in my closet?"
"That's a classic boot," Kisten said, affronted. "It never goes out of style. Put them on." He shuffled about again, pulling something out by feel, as he couldn't possibly see anything back there. My face warmed when I saw an old suit I'd forgotten I had. "Oh, this is just ugly," he said, and I snatched it out of his hands.
"It's my old interview suit," I said. "It's supposed to be ugly."
"Throw it away. But keep the pants. You're wearing them tonight."
"I am not!" I protested. "Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!"
Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don't-go-there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn't the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.
"This too," he said, and I shook my head.
"No," I said firmly. "It's too long, and it's something my mother would wear."
"Then your mother has better taste than you," he said in good humor. "Wear a camisole under it, and for God's sake, don't tuck it in."
"Kisten, get out of my closet!"
But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten's eyes told me he knew what it was.
"Give me that," I said, reaching out for it.
A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I'd have to climb him. "Well, well, well…" he drawled. "Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel's guide to dating the undead?"
I pressed my lips together and fumed, stymied. Hip cocked, I could do nothing as he took a distancing step back and flipped through it.
"Have you read it?" he asked, then made a surprised Mmmm sound as he paused at a page. "I forgot about that one. I wonder if I can still do that."
"Yes, I've read it." I extended my hand. "Give it here."
Kisten pulled his attention from the pages, his long masculine hands cradling the book open. His eyes had gone black just a wee bit, and I cursed myself as a thrill of excitement went through me. Damn vamp pheromones.
"Ooooh, it's important to you," Kisten said, glancing out the door when Ivy banged something in the kitchen. "Rachel…" he said, his voice softer as he moved a step closer. "You know all my secrets." Without looking, his fingers dog-eared a page. "What drives me crazy. What instinctively tips me over—the—edge…"
He said the last word carefully, and I stifled a delicious shudder.
"You know how to…manipulate me," he murmured, the book dangling from an inattentive hand. "Do witches have a manual?"
He had somehow gotten within two feet of me, and I didn't remember him moving. The smell of his wool coat was strong, and under that was the heady scent of leather. Flustered, I snatched the book away, and Kisten dropped back a step. "Don't you wish," I muttered. "Ivy gave it to me so I would stop pushing her buttons. That's all it is." I shoved it under my pillow, and his smile widened. Damn it, if he touched me, I was going to slug him.
"That's where it belongs," he said. "Not a closet. Keep it close for quick reference."
"Get out," I said, pointing.
Long coat drifting about his shoe tops, he moved to the door, his every motion holding a confident seductive grace. "Put your hair up," he said as he sauntered through the arch-way. A grin came over him, showing me his teeth. "I like your neck. Page twelve, third paragraph down." He licked his lips, hiding the flash of fang even as I saw it.